embroidered curtains


The Olivetti-Montefiore Torah Curtain (Parokhet), Pesaro, Italy, 1620.

This very early Torah Ark curtain was embroidered in 1620 by Rachel Olivetti of Pesaro, on the occasion of her marriage to her husband, Judah Montefiore. Its focal point is a poem, embroidered between two arched columns, adorned with intricate vegetal and floral ornaments. Two family coats of arms appear below the text: a dove holding an olive branch, representing the Olivetti family, and a lion standing on a mountain, holding a flower, representing the Montefiore family (mount of flowers in Italian). The verse expresses praise for the marriage of the couple:

The gates of the Temple open on the great occasion of the Montefiore family / An olive branch is held by the dove, its beauty seen by all / Light coming out of the Temple will return inwards / Rachel and Yehuda are joining Beit Israel / The lily is held in the lion’s hand, its beauty radiating and shining.

Ulyana Sergeenko Couture FW1516 perspex and metal painted clutches “Winter Garden" with hand embroidered decorative curtain #ulyanasergeenko #couture #fw1516 #fashionshow #pariscouture #pfw #communalflat #wintergarden #коммуналка #зимнийсад #ульянасергеенко by ulyana_sergeenko_moscow



The Early Years

Part 1 Part 2

“We have our own magic eight ball!”

February 12th, 2020.

Seattle, Washington. West Pacific Academy.

The Barracks

The room was silent for a moment, as the team processed your words. You could see the confusion on their faces, not only from your innocent looking appearance, but also your unique ability.

“Well, hello there, (Y/N), welcome to our squad: Strategic Mutiny!” the brown haired boy, Peter, said, near the back of the room. He jumped up from his bed and walked towards you, a bright smile on his face. “I’m Pe-”

“Peter,” you said for him, shaking his head. “How’s your Aunt May?” you asked curiously, tilting your head slightly. “Did her lazer eye surgery go well?”

His mouth hung open in surprise, his brown eyes going wide, before a wide smile spread across his face. “Oh my god, are you like reading my mind?” he asked, his voice tinged in excitement.

You laughed, shaking your head. “No, I’m not that cool,” you joked, and he laughed. “I’m just able to see bits of the future.”

“’Not that cool’?” Peter asked in disbelief, looking at you in amusement. “You can see the future, man!” he shook his head, before walking away, mumbling about being able to see the future.

You blushed, as once again you were under scrutiny from the rest of the room. “It’s not that cool,” you mumbled, and Bucky chuckled, squeezing your shoulder.

“So you’re able to see what will happen tomorrow?” Pietro asked, and besides him, his sister gazed at you curiously.

You hesitated, and bit your lip. “I can only see what happens with those I’m drift compatible with,” you answered, and his blue eyes widened. “Even then, most of the times I need a conduit to see the future with.” you added, and in your minds eye you pictured you grandmother’s beautiful tarot cards. Your hands itched to touch them, and you could tell you had a vision coming on.

“That’s awesome, we have our own magic eight ball,” Sam said, his eyes crinkling as he smiled at you. Your squad laughed, and you could feel the tension draining from the room.

Steve and Bucky left your side to go sit on their beds, watching your interactions with both amusement and relief. Sam walked up to you, two others trailing behind him. “I’m Sam, by the way. The cranky kitty cat over there is my co-pilot, T’Challa,” he introduced, jutting his chin towards the man sitting on the bed next to his. T’Challa raised a hand in greeting, his dark eyes curious and thoughtful.

“Nice to meet you,” you replied brightly. “I’m sure between the two of us can get our cranky kitty cat co-pilot to smile.” you joked, and Sam roared in amusement, patting you on the shoulder. You jumped a little bit, but the jolly man didn’t notice.

“You hear that, kitty cat? (Y/N) is gonna make you smile!” Sam called to his co-pilot, as he walked back to his bed. Next up were Natasha and Clint. They mimicked each other’s movement so perfectly that it amazed you. When Clint stepped up and offered his hand to you, Nat took a step forward as well, but didn’t offer her hand.

“Hiya, (Y/N), I’m Clint and this is my co-pilot Nat,” he introduced, and you shook his hand. “But, I guess you already knew that.” he joked, and you laughed.

“Yeah, I did,” you admitted shyly, and his green gray eyes sparkled in amusement. “You two met when you were still in high school, right?” you asked curiously. “It was the first time your futures crossed.”

Natasha’s eyes widened, and she shared a quick look with Clint. “Yes,” she said, pursuing her lips. “I guess you really can tell the future.”

You lips parted, and Clint laughed at your expression. “Don’t worry, (Y/N), she’s just joking,” he explained, and you sighed in relief. Giving you a smile, the pair walked off, the squad going back to whatever they had been doing.

Looking around, you took in your surroundings. The barracks had brick walls, and cement floor. Someone had put a large tye dye rug on the hard floor the covered most of the spacious room. There were six beds on the left side, seven on the right, colorful curtains covering the furthest three on the right. Pictures and posters covered the wall, and each person had a little bed side table.

“Would you like me to show you where you’re sleeping?” someone asked, and you jumped in surprise. Wanda stood in front of you, a small smile on her face. Her long brown hair was braided, and the rings on her hands glinted in the light.

“Oh, yes please,” you said, giving her a smile. Turning to grab your suitcase and duffel bag, you noticed it was gone. Bucky caught your eye and grinned. Sneaky, courteous bastard, you thought to yourself as Wanda led you to the last three beds on the left.

“This one’s mine,” she said, pointing to the one that had red curtains, with small flowers embroidered on them. The curtains were pulled away, and you could see Pietro lounging on his sister’s bed. “Nat sleeps next to me,” she continued, the red haired girl’s bed covered with gauzy black curtains, that had shades of purple and gray mixed in. “And here’s yours.” she finished, coming to stop at the last bed. Curtains that looked like the ocean covered yours, shades of blues, greens, and whites flickered as you stood by Wanda. “I make these myself.” she added bashfully, noticing your flabbergasted expression.

“Wanda, they are breathtaking!” you exclaimed, giving her a bright smile. “I love them!”

Wanda blushed, averting her eyes. “Thank you,” she said, her fingers playing with soft material. “Bucky and Steve told me you have lived in Seattle for most of your life, and you missed seeing the ocean everyday.”

You felt a lump forming in your throat, and your eyes prickling. “Thank you,” you said thickly. “This really means a lot to me.” you added, touched by her thoughtful gift.

“No problem. Anything for a team mate,” she said, and then added silently in your head: Anything for a fellow mutant. “Don’t be afraid to ask for help to unpack!” she said brightly, as if nothing had happened. Giving your hand a squeeze, she flitted away.

Setting down your duffel bag and carry on bag, you noticed a couple things. 1. There were three boxes sitting on your bed, probably Uncle Phil dropped off from your old room. 2. Your other bag and suitcase were placed carefully to the side of your bed. 3. Your bed was a bit bigger than a twin, and there seemed to be about three and a half feet between you and the wall, and you and Natasha. 4. There was a bedside table, and a dresser. 5. Someone, probably Uncle Phil or Bucky, had already made your bed, with pretty blue sheets, green and gray pillows, dark blue blankets, and a white comforter. 6. This could feel like home.

Smiling to yourself, you started to unpack. First, came your going away present from Daisy: a pretty blanket, that was a mixture of colors. You placed that on the foot of your bed, along with your Stitch stuffed animal. Next came your clothes. You only took out your fall and winter clothes, no need for your wonderful spring and summer dresses that you had worn in South America. You mournfully left those in your suitcase, which you stuck under your bed. You kept your rain boots, rain jacket and umbrella at the foot of your bed (hey, you can never be too careful in Seattle). You placed three picture frames on the dresser; one of you and your dad (he was actually smiling), on of you and Uncle Phil, and one of you and your late parents. Then, you strung up your flickering yellow fairy lights, and placed your lamp on your bedside table. All that was left was two boxes and a duffel bag.

One box held hundreds of photos and rolls of tape (and your Scooby Doo backpack that held your most prized possessions… We’ll get to that later). You took out a shoe box from your duffel bag that held Polaroids from your time in South America. Carefully, you started to tape these up, first on the wall over your bed, and then the other wall. This took time, patience, and a lot of tape. Finally, you were done. The smiling faces of Bucky, Steve, and your (adopted) older brother Thor stood out, along with laughing faces of your friends in South America- Daisy, Fitz, Simmons, Mack, Hunter, Bobbi, and Lincoln. Your face frequented the photos, some of you when were younger, some of you when you were older. Candid photos of your adopted father and your Uncle Phil littered the wall, and those were your favorites.

In the other box and your duffel bag were books. You had just enough room on one of the walls to hang up three shelves. Just as you were wondering how you would get them on the wall, someone asked “You need some help with those shelves?”

Jerking around with one hand over your heart, you met the eyes of the one squad member who hadn’t been in the room. Scott, the only person you hadn’t met yet. His eyes were bright, and rain glistened in his hair. He waited patiently for your response, smiling at you. “Sure,” you finally said breathlessly. “You scared me!”

Scott grinned. “Everyone tells me I should wear bells or somethin’ like that. Peter especially,” he joked, reaching for the shelves. “So, Peter tells me that you can see the future… Is it true?” he asked conversationally, scooting behind you to reach the wall.

You nodded, sitting down on your bed. “Yeah, I guess I’m a bit of a pre-cog.” you answered, biting your lip.

“That’s so badass!” he replied, and you let out a laugh. Scott’s reaction was eerily similar to his co-pilot’s, and you could tell it was like this for the rest of the team. “You’re gonna be such a great asset, (Y/N). I bet your gonna be a better pilot than your dad.” he turned to look at you, a twinkle in his brown eyes.

You blushed, and opened your mouth to reply, but Tony cut you off. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s gonna happen.” the two of you turned to see Tony standing at the foot of your bed, his arms crossed. “You look like you couldn’t even kill a fly, let alone pilot a Jaeger and kill a Kaiju. I bet your dad just let you in out of pity,” he taunted cruelly, his dark eyes blazing.

The room went silent, and you knew that if you didn’t do something, two things would happen. 1. Bucky would most likely throw a punch at Tony and 2. your squad would never respect you. Standing up, you pressed your lips together in a thin line. “Tony,” you said evenly, a hint of anger in your voice. “If I am as incompetent as you say I am, how about you prove that?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “Unless you’re scared.” you added, and you could see Tony’s eyes narrowed.

“Fine,” he spat, and you gave him a pleasant smile. “Lead the way, princess.”

Nodding, you walked out of the barracks, a cruel smile on your face. Did Tony really think Fury’s daughter couldn’t fight? Your smile widened as you walked down familiar halls, your squad trailing after you. Oh, you were going to have fun.

AN: Sorry if it’s a bit slower! This chapter is a bit of a filler chapter. But next chapter will be FUN!

Tagging: @miss-nerdalots @valerietodad @kaye-herl-love @luv-what-you-do@iamanerdybibliobibuli @bittersweetbarnes @fearthedietcoke @siberiansoldier @burrshottfirstt@marvelgoateecollection@justcameforthefanfiction@nativesebby

anonymous asked:

Spring cleaning: an opium den full of prostitutes. In the back of your closet. Yep

Tendrils of colored smoke curl and intertwine against the stained ceiling like a breeding pit of snakes.  Long burgundy silk curtains, embroidered in golden thread with images of dragons and lotuses drape at various angles around the room, subdividing it into semi-private quadrants, not quite blocking out the murmurs of conversations and the silhouettes of bodies.  Occasionally, you catch a phrase of coded language or a glimpse of a gracefully upturned bare foot.

The assorted harlots sprawled on your chaise lounge seem rather less excited than that.  You take another long pull from the pipe and allow its narcotic smoke to linger in your body for a few moments before releasing it slowly from your mouth and nostrils.  One of the ladies leans forward and caresses your jawline, as if hoping to take a secondhand drag directly from your mouth, but stops short of pressing her lips against yours.  You languidly wipe the mouthpiece with your sleeve and offer it to her, but by the time her eyes focus on it, she seems to have forgotten what it is, or, indeed, how to interact with physical objects at all.  The vermilion eyeshadow and black lashes over her vacant stare are immaculate, like an expertly painted porcelain doll, too pristine and delicate to ever be touched or moved or loved.

You wait.

You wait in the center of this den of debauchery like a mantis in the center of an orchid, like a poisonous spring-loaded trap hidden in an elaborate jewelry box, like the single smoldering coal in the heart of your hookah.  Though your body is supine and your head is beginning to spin from the opium, you remain alert and focused.  Your contact is late.

You focus on the sounds, forcing your attention against the murmurs and rustling, the clinking of jewerly, the refilling of cups, the faint strains of aimless music, a single dry cough.  You detect a few velvet footfalls, but each one corresponds to people you already know.  You have a thorough mental catalogue of every person in this place, where they are, what they’re doing.  There are twenty people, not including you.  Sixteen of them are harmless.

One of the harlots playfully runs her fingertips from your toe to your ankle and up your pantleg, but stops short as she brushes against the ridge of the holster strapped to your calf.  She appears neither surprised nor disapproving, but she does momentarily turn away, her lazy attempt at flirtation abandoned.  You shrug to yourself and take another toke.  No time for love.

Somewhere, a door opens.  You remain completely still, but every muscle in your body tenses rock-hard at once.  A single chime sounds - B sharp - and you hear a low female voice recite a half-verse in an improperly-pronounced foreign language.  You relax again.  In another section of the room, someone chuckles.

Not yet.

You wait.

>Alright…not really. Turns out using cleaning chemicals in a non-ventilated closet was not a good course of action to take.  Oh the wisdom of hindsight.  You suspect what is in fact happening is that you are, as some folks would say, “tripping hella balls.”

>You open some windows and lay on your couch as you try to call a friend up to drive you to a clinic since you are in no shape for driving yourself.

Growing Pains

For endingthemes, who requested “Parent teacher conferences or __ (see the end for the second prompt).” As usual, I took it as a challenge and smushed them. Set in my wall ‘verse. 

Charles knows he’s forgetting something. It’s burrowing in the back of his mind, small enough to ignore when more pressing things need his attention, but large enough to keep him from ever really relaxing. He’d normally pop in on Erik and ask him if he knew, but today Erik’s shrouded his mind with dark curtains embroidered with a clear request for privacy, so Charles stays out.

Erik gets like this, sometimes, so Charles doesn’t take it to heart. Erik has been a saint when it comes to his telepathy, far more understanding than anyone in his life, even Raven. It’s only natural that every once in a while he retreat back into himself, that he needs space. Especially since Erik is naturally introverted, and Charles’ telepathy pretty much eliminates the kind of privacy Erik has spent his whole life accustomed to.

“Mr. Xavier?”

Charles blinks a few times, pulled from his thoughts, and says, “Oh, my apologies. I was lost in thought for a moment, you know how it is.”

The woman smiles, and even though it’s tight Charles can tell that it’s not from prejudice, it’s simply from the stress of wrangling 12 year olds all day every day. It’d been a fight to get Erik to agree to enroll Wanda and Pietro into a public, integrated school rather than the private mutant academy that he’d wanted to, but Charles wholly believes that this is what’s best for their children.

“As I was saying,” the woman says pointedly, and her hair is a lovely shade of brown, close in color to Erik’s hair. The thought niggles the thing bothering him again, and he almost has it when he feels a spike of anxiety lash strongly from where Pietro is sitting next to him, and he lets it go to tune back in.

The teacher, Ms. Marie, he remembers, is pulling a dvd from her drawer, and Charles raises a brow at Pietro. “What’s this?” He asks, although he’s looking at where Pietro is hunching his shoulders and thinking, steadily, keep out keep out I’m sorry keep out.

“This is a recording from class today. Since we’re one of the few integrated schools and normal issues tend to get politically escalated, we have cameras installed in every room. You signed the waiver when enrolling, I hope you remember.” It’s defensive, but not in a rude way, and Charles feels a little bad for her. She’s probably had to defend herself from more than one hysterical parent.

“Oh yes, I do remember that. Quite a comforting addition, really.” He says soothingly, all while Pietro gets more and more stressed. “Why is this relevant, though?”

“I think it’d be better if you watched, Mr. Xavier,” She says, and gives Pietro a wry look.

Keep reading

“Lullaby for 17,” Linda Pastan

You are so young
you heal as you weep,
and your tears
instead of scalding 
your face like mine
simply as rain.

I tried to teach you
what I knew: how men
in their sudden beauty
are more dangerous,
how love refracting light
can burn the hand, how memory
is a scorpion

and stings with its tail.
You knew my catechism
but never believed. Now
you look upon pain
as a discovery all your own,
marvelling at the way it invades
the bloodstream, ambushes sleep. 

Still you forgive 
so easily. I’d like 
to take your young man
by his curls and tear
them out,
who like a dark planet circles
your bright universe

still furnished with curtains
you embroidered yourself,
an underbrush
of books and scarves,
a door at which
you’ll soon be posed
to leave.

solarpunk and dance

Well, here it is, my first big long theory post- typed up in the few minutes I have before I go to my own dance class~

So! In a solarpunk society, a lot of emphasis would be placed on fine arts, like dance, music, painting, etc. Probably everyone would be able to do at least a little bit of something, even if it was only hand-making pottery or painting a mural onto one of the walls of their room. 

One of my personal favorite concepts is the idea of a big, public (well… like a lot of museums, you could go for free but you’re really encouraged to donate to keep the place in business) auditorium! And yes, in my solarpunk reality money is still a thing, because it’s going to take a lot to get rid of money.

The auditorium would have a gorgeous stained glass ceiling over the stage, and seats stretching almost straight up around the central well. High ceilings, lots of embroidered curtains on the walls. I picture the ceiling looking something like the dome on the Ursuline Institute’s wintertuin.

In the daytime, there would be multicultural music events, and maybe some scheduled open mic times throughout the day for people to present their own poetry and music. The light from the stained glass would color the performers and scatter over the people in the first few rows of the audience.

Keep reading

Heartless Immortal

There were many things in the world that Carrie Allen was unaware of; as a college student, she accepted that and sought to learn all that she could. One thing she was curious about was those with the Marks.

Less than one percent of the population of the planet was born with them - it meant somewhere, they had a soulmate with a matching mark. Throughout history there had noted pairs of Marked and even the treatment of the Marked had varied from culture to culture, to generation to generation.

The reason why she was so curious was because she was Marked - and born Marked, meaning her soulmate had been born prior to her. 

Often she wondered what her soulmate was like, even if they would meet one another. So many of the Marked never met their soulmate, even with the advances in technology making the world seem like such a smaller place. 

Sometimes she thought about putting a picture of her Mark on the Mark-matching websites but would always chicken out; her Mark was high on the inside of her thigh that it would be difficult to do it herself, and she didn’t want to bother her unMarked bestfriend Iris….

There was no way of her knowing the trouble her Mark would bring her way, that she would end up drugged and kidnapped by her roommate’s friend…

…to lay on an altar of black and gold marble in a dark, foreboding building hidden away from ‘normal’ society, a place of worship for an ancient cult that worshiped a Dark, vampire God. 

Draperies in rich burgundy and black covered the windows; the altar was surrounded by thick, semi-transparent gold embroidered burgundy curtains that matched the altar cloth. The simple white dress they had dressed her in - vee-necked with spaghetti straps that ended around her knees - along with her blonde hair and fair skin all but glowed in contrast with the altar.

On the other side of the curtains, a battle was raging between the cultists and vampire hunters who had come to kill the latest incarnation of the vampire God’s Mate, just like they had every time prior.

Because who knew what sort of power the already nearly invulnerable Dark God would gain if he finally claimed his Mate at last…

Blind Date - Chris Evans x Reader

Hi :). Could you write either a senior or Chris story where they somehow meet the reader but she’s very hesitant in wanting to get close to them because of fear of being hurt and rejected like her past relationships? Thank you :)

You hated the colour black, you didn’t even consider it as a colour but Scarlett told you that it’s the colour you look best in. You thought it was a little bit fitting that you were wearing a colour you hated considering you were doing something you hated, going on a blind date.

It was Scarlett Johansson, your closest friend, who had organised it. She’d picked where you’d go to meet, she even picked who you were going on a date with. He was going to be the one with the blue tie apparently. Just because you were going didn’t mean you were going willingly, she had practically forced you, giving you this big spiel about how your future will end up if you continue spending your life alone and pushing away everyone who took interest in you.

And at the time it had been quite inspirational, but as you looked into the mirror you felt yourself realising that you didn’t want to be a part of anything just yet. You’ve been rejected and hurt so many times in past relationship, and you just weren’t ready to go through all that again.

You tried calling Scarlett five times and she didn’t answer, which meant the guy will just be there. Waiting for you. Guilt sat in the bottom of your belly as you paced the living room of your apartment, tapping the phone repeatedly just so you’d have something to do with your hands. It was a hard decision for you to make, but you couldn’t exactly just leave this guy to be rejected so harshly when the reason you’re running away is because you don’t want to be rejected, you may be a coward but you’re not cruel.

With a grievous sigh you left the house, not feeling brave at all. There was no head held up high, no confident walking. You were insecure, and afraid.

The restaurant was the kind of place where you’d have to book two months in advance, unless you were a celebrity like Scar of course. There were large mullioned windows with long embroidered curtains. The ten tables in the room were a dark walnut colour and a singular red rose was placed in a vase on each table. In the background there was delicate live piano music playing, bouncing off the cream walls and adding a relaxing undertone beneath all the chatter. There was a bar at the back which many people sat at, probably waiting for their table, that was where you were suppose to meet your date.

In and out, that’s what you told yourself. This would be a quick job, all you had to do was found the man with the blue tie, tell him you’re sorry but you’re not staying and then leave. That’s it, three very simple things.

He was very easy to spot, surprisingly. It was more to do with the fact that no one else was wearing a blue tie, you walked up to him slowly. You’d started counting to ten in your head as a method to calm down your racing heart, he also looked very nervous though. He was tapping his fingers against his drink and turning his head repeatedly. When his eyes finally landed on you though, he seemed to grin. The man was up faster than you thought humanly possible, “you must be Y/N, right?”

“Scarlett told you my name?” You were surprised because she’d given you no details whatsoever about him, you tried to explain this to him. “I’m sorry I don’t know your name, she only told me to look out for a blue tie.” You were trying to speak as calmly as possible, not wanting to end up displaying just how awkward you could get.

“Chris, hi.” He shook your offered hand, and you took a moment to take him in. He was beautiful, you don’t know whether that’s an insult or not but you certainly don’t intend it to be insulting. He is beautiful, he has beautiful blue eyes and a beautiful beard and beautiful hair, beautiful biceps and a beautiful suit. “Can I get you a drink?” His question took you from your trance and reminded you why you were there.

Resignedly, you shook your head. “I’m not staying,” as soon as the words passed your lips he had a frown on his face, it was a beautiful frown. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t want you to just be sat here waiting for me. I did try calling Scarlett so she could tell you before you arrived, but I think she was hoping if she didn’t answer than I wouldn’t back out of this blind date.”

“Ah,” he made a noise of understanding and he nodded his head. “Well, uh, can I ask why? Not to seem big headed or anything,” he waved his arm dramatically.

You’d begun to swing from side to side, feeling a tad shy in his presence but you weren’t as uncomfortable as you thought you’d be. “I just… you want the truth or a lie that’ll make you feel better?”

He swung his head from side to side, deciding between the two choices, “I think I’ll go for brutal honesty.”

With a nod of your head you moved to sit down on one of the bar stools, signalling to the one in front of you for him to sit at. He complied. “So once upon a time, in a land far far away, also known as New York where I grew up. I dated this guy who cheated on me. And then I dated another guy, who dumped me through text. And then I dated another guy who had sex with me multiple times and then rejected me. And then I had this really long relationship, and it turned out that he didn’t want me, he just needed a bank account. And I’m not ready to go on any more dates, I don’t want to get rejected or anything like that. Hurts too much, you know?”

“Wow, I’m sorry.” He didn’t really know what to say and you really didn’t really expect him to say anything, it was hard for anyone to comfort you over something that’s happened in the past. Chris suddenly clapped his hands together, “right this isn’t a date then. Let’s just have a few drinks, compare war stories. I’m sure you’d be very interested to hear how I dumped someone using an orange.” He’d moved his head down a little so that he was able to connect his eyes for you, and his smile infected you and caused you to smile. That was all the confirmation he needed, he ordered you a drink and you started talking.

After a large amount of conversation, ranging from oranges to tutu’s, both you and Chris were hunched over each other laughing boisterously. He wiped away his tears as you did the same, though it blurred your vision slightly you still managed to notice how he’d looked you up and down, “I love the black dress by the way.”

You looked down at it and grimaced, “I don’t, I hate this colour.”

“Me too!” He yelled, raising his arms over his head and you gasped along with him. You weren’t sure how many drinks you’d had but the two of you were certainly feeling very buzzed by this point.

As you finished laughing again, you looked out over to the restaurant area and noticed a plate of pizza passing through the tables. It made your stomach growl, and so there was really only one thing you could do to remedy it. “Do you want to go on that date actually, I’m starved.” His eyebrows raised to an impossible height on his forehead and it made your shyness from before return, “i-if you’ll have me?”

All of a sudden Chris stood up from his seat, falling to his knees and throwing out his open palm towards you. “My lady, I would be honoured.” By now people were staring so you quickly grabbed a hold of his hand and pulled him from his position on the floor, giggling as you did so.

okay but can we talk about will and alyss just imagine

  • alyss reciting a diplomatic speech to will but he keeps interjecting with better words like the ones he tried to put into the wedding speech
  • will taking alyss on more missions like the one where they rescued ebony except these ones are top secret and they both try to see who gets stuck in the craziest roleplaying situations like “you be an old maid and i’ll be a jongleur and then we’ll storm the castle” i mean maybe that should just be their honeymoon
  • alyss moving into will’s cabin in the woods and putting up lacy curtains and embroidering flowers into his mottled cloak and leaving sweet little notes all over the place
  • alyss and will fighting over who makes better coffee
  • will secretly sitting in on alyss’ diplomatic meetings and sitting in a dark corner with his cowl pulled up ready to throw any people who are rude to alyss into the nearest moat
  • will taking alyss for a ride on tug to a nearby flower field and then revealing a basket with a delicious ranger meal that he cooked himself



Top image, of models wearing Oscar de la Renta, via Getty

It’s safe to say that the winds of haute couture blew from France to America for much of this century. "Paris was everything,” says Robin Givhan, author of The Battle of Versailles. “Whatever the French designers said was fashion, that is what the Americans said: ‘OK, that’s fashion.’“

Until one night in 1973 …

It was snowing that night, just to add to the sort of storybook feeling. And, you know, there are men in like the full livery with the white wigs and the uniforms. And people are arriving, and they are the jet set of the time. And the theater where this took place is gilded and filled with blue velvet seats and fleurs-de-lis, you know, embroidered on the curtains and chandeliers. And it was just absolutely breathtaking. One writer at the time sort of described the scene as they all took their seats as peacocks sitting in this giant theater.
It was a predominantly French crowd and they went bonkers for them. … I think what changed was the way that the American industry saw itself.

Read the full interview here.

– Petra

anonymous asked:

akaashi is a prince and bokuto is a burglar and they become friends and meet up every night and when akaashi finds out he has to marry soon they are both devastated. The night before the wedding bokuto kisses akaashi and asks him to run away with him

(that awkward moment when I come up with an entire plot for this like I could write a real fic)

Thieving 101: Breaking and Entering 

It’s a quarter past three A.M. and the ceiling of his bedroom is as interesting as it usually is at a quarter past three A.M.

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Recap: Act 1, Episode 12

Back at it again with the vlogs.

Nice little in-story explanation to the new release schedule. Laura brings her viewers up to speed: Dean is evil, hard to kill, possessed Perry and now the kids are being used as slave labour. they’re 4/7 Gates in to releasing hell. So time probably isn’t on their side right now.

She puts out a call for help again because they’re a bit stuck with some of the translations.

That’s, well that’s sadly a realistic way to look at it.

Exactly and I’m going to start keeping a tally of how many pop culture references Jordan can shove into one sentence.

Papa Hollis is happy with Realist Laura and wants to lay down some rules that are mostly about safety and what the fuck happened that needed a biohazard suit in her past?

I find myself wishing, not for the first time, that this was a Netflix show with a bigger budget and WAY more time to explore the world because there are still so many things I want to know.

Well I think you’re ridiculous for saying that sentence. And yes, parents should keep their kids safe but settle down bro, she’s a grownup.

Yep, with dragons and high walls and jfc it’s LAURA she’d find a way out and probably set the tower on fire in the process.

Yep. And she probably always will in some way.

awww they’re bonding in a sort of awkward way and to diffuse that, Carmilla asks about Laura’s kindergarten uprising.

more bonding! (i’m so glad we don’t see my parents enough for shit like this to happen).

Yep, possible explosions are way more preferable to your dad showing your not-quite-girlfriend baby pics.

Laura would rather that dear ol’ dad treat her like an adult instead of being proud and why can’t he do both?

Ouch. But I guess that’s how it was back then eh. Laura feels bad for that and since they’re friends (WHOAREGONNABANG) she wants to talk it out a bit. Laura’s upset because Carmilla wanted her to leave. It was to keep her safe and that’s what Laura’s been saying while moping and embroidering Firefly quotes on curtains (Whedon reference everybody take a drink). Things get a bit heated with the name-calling and from that comes this:

YAAAAAAAAAAAA and then of fucking course the phone rings.

LOLOL omg hey Betty and LOOK AT THAT SMUG FACE. GET IT CARM. Betty saw the broadcast and has some info. The symbols are proto-Akkadian and mean “shepherd” and “sword”. So the Hastur blade is important.

HOLY. FUCKING. SHIT. ANOTHER JOSS FUCKING WHEDON REFERENCE. Jesus fuck. Jordan, sorry to tell you but you ARE NOT the next whedon and this is NOT the next Buffy no matter HOW BADLY YOU WANT BOTH.